Fingerprints
by InsaneAndHappyAboutIt
Summary: Tuck and FDR are chasing a notorious identity forger, one who resembles Tuck to an creepy degree. What will happen when FDR is faced with trying to make the right decision between his best friend and a criminal?... Warning: MATURE SEXUAL CONTENTS!, M/M, Some Bad Language. I hope you like it and please review! XD ENJOY!


**Warning: MATURE SEXUAL CONTENTS!, M/M, Some Bad Language (starting with the first sentence...XD)**

**This was a request by TWILIGHTSPARKLE96! I hope i didn't let her down... I hope you all like it and leave a review if u have the time. XD ENJOY! **

**Also, I do NOT own This Mean War or Inception or any of the characters! **

_**Fingerprints **_

'What...the fuck?...' Tuck didn't even realize he's spoken his thoughts, every single one of them in complete shambles, out loud. He was staring, no...gawking at what must have been his long-lost twin brother. He'd heard a theory once that every living person had a 'double', which was where the whole myth of doppelgangers came from, but due to the laws of probability the chances of meeting that one person out of all the multitude of humans on Earth were less than 0%! And yet, here he was, face-to-face with his... Typical!

'Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?' Shit! Even their voices sounded the same! Tuck had to physically shake his head to knock some sense back into it, though he made sure to keep his eyes on his target. He doubted the man would be very dangerous since he was being held at gun point but still, he was a top-priority target because he was known for his notorious ability to escape from all sorts of unlikely situations.

'Don't bring my mother into this.' He couldn't believe another person could be so perfectly similar to him. Had he not known better he would have automatically assumed some top-secret bullshit involving cloning but he'd seen the pictures and he knew what to expect. Still... Being face to face with his own personal doppelganger was an experience he was not prepared for.

'You know, if you keep staring at me like that I'll be forced to assume you see something you like.' Tuck was so surprised by the obviously flirtatious tone he nearly dropped his gun.

'What?! We look the same! That is disgusting!' He took a step back, as if physically recoiling from the thoughts, which only made the criminal's smirk widen. If he hadn't been told expressly NOT to kill the guy, Tuck would have turned him into a human-shaped watering can by now.

'Oh come now. You're seriously telling me the thought hasn't crossed your mind? Not even for a second?'

'NO!' Tuck realized he was willingly falling into the other's obvious trap and he was letting him get a rise out of him so damn easily it was embarrassing. He was in much better control of his emotions usually! But then again, usually he didn't have a highly dangerous criminal at gun point, with no help in sight and his partner lost god-knew where on some labyrinthine network of back-alleys. Oh, and said criminal was his identical copy. How could he forget about that? 'No...I am NOT falling for this. I've read your file mate and I'm well aware of your ability to manipulate your captors. Unfortunately for you, that's not going to fly with me.'

'Could have fooled me.' Tuck felt his finger twitch, yearning to squeeze the trigger and put a bullet right between the man's eyes. He had to silently count to ten simply to prevent that exact scenario from taking place.

'You are one lucky son-of-a-bitch. If you didn't have knowledge of crucial top-secret information I can promise you, I would have shot you on the spot.' He was still keeping that option on the table actually, but nobody needed to know that. Where in the bloody hell was FDR anyway? Or backup for that matter?

'Wouldn't have taken you for a hypocrite.' When Tuck arched a questioning eyebrow the criminal continued. 'I mean, you get insulted when I mention your mother and then you go and call mine a bitch. Hardly a nice thing to do, agent Hansen.' Tuck's gun dropped slightly, his surprise at having his identity known clearly showing across his face.

'How do you know my name?' The man rolled his eyes, as if he'd just been asked the silliest question in recorded history.

'Com now agent, do you really have to insult my mother and my intelligence? Since you read my file, I'm sure you know what it is I excel at doing best. Besides, it only seems fair. You accessed my private files so I simply evened the tables. How are Katie and Joe by the way?' Tuck's finger automatically tensed at the mention of his ex-wife and his son, the noise from the fired bulled ringing through the deserted side-street. He remembered he wasn't supposed to kill the man at the last second and the bulled flew by him, barely grazing his cheek. Enough for a satisfying trail of blood to begin running down his face, Tuck noticed.

'Don't you dare mention them.' His eyes and tone was dead serious and even a blind man could see the danger. But it seemed the man in front of him had a death-wish. He'd barely flinched when the shot was fired and Tuck admitted he was slightly, very slightly, impressed. He had to be either insanely brave or simply insane. Tuck was willing to bet on the latter though he'd evaded being caught expertly for someone who was crazy...

'Now, now, there's no need for that. Contrary to your expectations I'm not the blood-thirsty psychopath your agency surely depicted me as. My biggest crime is being too curious and occasionally working for the wrong people if the price is right. Hurting women and children is far from my cup of tea.' Tuck realized he believed what this man told him and then he remembered who he was dealing with...

'Wow. They warned me you were a good liar and you nearly had me. I would give you a round of applause but my hand is a little busy at the moment.' He shrugged towards the gun as if it was something which could be forgotten. 'You may not have personally killed any women and children but putting your skills as an identity thief up for hire were responsible for many deaths, and all because you are a greedy bastard Eames. Hope it was worth it because you're going away for a long time.' As soon as FDR graced them with his presence! Tuck glanced quickly over his shoulder but there was still no sign of anyone else. He hoped nothing happened to his partner...

'For your information, I know exactly who my father was.' Eames was still being his flippant self but Tuck could see he'd got to the guy, by the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes, but before he could point that out the forger continued. 'Let me guess, you're worried about your partner, agent Franklin Foster? Though I understand he prefers to be called FDR.' When Tuck glared at him Eames shrugged, not that easy considering his arms were raised in surrender. 'You didn't think yours was the only file I read, did you? It's only common sense to know who's chasing you so you can better prepare for the possibility of an encounter.' And suddenly things made a lot more sense. Tuck gave Eames another quick once-over. He knew they had a creepily similar body structure but he remembered Eames' hair-style was different and he had a visible stubble in the picture accompanying his file. Yet now, his hair was styled so it looked identical to his own and his face was smoothly shaved. It was like looking into a mirror. Even their clothes were similar, not identical but eerily close. He supposed that's what made Eames such an adept identity thief. He could literally become other people and impersonate their characters to a level of perfection which was rare even for highly trained secret agents. All of those realizations brought Tuck to his next question.

'When did you start stealing my identity?' Eames's lips curved into a smile and Tuck knew he'd hit the proverbial nail straight on the head.

'When I realized your agency was on my tracks. Considering our similarities it would have been stupid of me not to.' Tuck wondered just how much did Eames know about him already? What sort of private files had he accessed? And more importantly...

'How did you know we were on your tracks? That information was top secret.'

'With the right sources, and the right currency, no information is ever top secret. You should remember that. I already told you about my curiosity.' Tuck couldn't help wondering if that was some sort of threat. He had to make sure Eames was apprehended or he risked the lives of the people he cared about, the ones who couldn't defend themselves. His own identity was clearly already compromised.

'Don't you know what happened to the cat?' Tuck regret not having brought along a pair of handcuffs. Well, he had but then FDR _borrowed_ them the previous night for...he didn't really want to know the details. He'd heard enough throughout the night, courtesy to the thin wall separating their hotel bedrooms.

'Good thing it had nine lives.' Tuck opened his mouth to say something but never got the chance. 'FDR, watch out! He's got my gun!' Tuck immediately whirled around to see his partner running towards them, his own gun pointed firmly at them, his eyes darting from one man to the other in clear confusion.

'No! He's lying! I'm Tuck and that's Eames!' Tuck didn't lower his gun but he kept eye contact with FDR. He'd never thought he'd be staring at the barrel of his partner's gun.

'You know me mate. You know I'm not lying.' Tuck was horrified to see FDR debating Eames' words. He wanted to scream at him to shut up but resulting to violence in that tricky situation might just end up convincing FDR he was the forger instead. He had to be very cautious and trust in FDR's good judgement. He was doomed...

'Don't fall for something like that. Come on mate, I've known you for years. You were my best man at my wedding with Katie for crying out loud!'

'No you weren't. You were at _my_ wedding and you made out with all three of the bride's maids.' Well at least Eames did his homework... Hooray for him.

'BOTH OF YOU, SHUT UP!' The two fell silent. FDR's eyes were still moving from one man to the other, the gun held on an imaginary target somewhere in between them, ready to swing towards the true enemy. 'This is...seriously freaky and I need a minute to catch my breath since those back-streets all look the same and I've been running for twenty minutes straight. Fuck Italy, seriously!' Eames and Tuck both rolled their eyes in unison and FDR frowned. That was exactly what Tuck would have done... Clearly, this was not going to be an easy choice. When was it ever?

FDR inhaled a few steading breaths, feeling his body respond gratefully to the fresh supply of oxygen, while he tried desperately to come up with a good solution for this disaster he was in. God damn it, it was Tuck who was the rational one! No matter how much he looked from one to the other he couldn't find one single incriminating detail which he could use to his advantage to tell the two apart. It was really mind boggling... _What would a threesome with them be like?..._That was NOT the time to think of stuff like that! He mentally reprimanded himself and decided to bite the bullet. There was a 50-50 chance he was right anyway... and a 50-50 chance he was wrong. He honestly did not like those odds.

'First of all, put the gun down.' Tuck looked at him like he was insane but FDR was determined to stand by his choice. 'I'm not saying you're not Tuck, yet, but just in case. Just do it.' He felt shitty enough as it was to point his gun at his partner, whichever one of the two he was, without the betrayed face. He hated himself for not being able to tell the difference between the two. He watched, hoping to whatever deity chose to listen that his guilt wasn't showing on his face, as Tuck slowly placed the gun on the ground and kicked it away. Without the threat of being shot, Eames let his hands fall by his side, though FDR could see the man was still ready for a confrontation at a second's notice.

'FDR, make the right choice.' FDR looked at Tuck and he seemed to try telling him something with his pleading gaze.

'I trust you will.' He looked at Eames and the pleading look was just as appealing.

'I can't. I'm sorry, I'm the world's crappiest friend 'cos I can't tell which one is you, Tuck.' He spoke to both of them and got the same sympathetic smile back. The fact that a complete stranger could know his best friend better than him, enough to steal his identity so efficiently, made him want to scream. And then the solution hit him like a bolt of ingenuity from the heavens. If this were a cartoon, surely a light bulb would be lighting above his head. 'Wait a second, why don't I just call your phone?' For once, FDR even had his phone! He was notorious for losing them, especially when he went out to a night club, but fortunately he'd left it at the hotel the previous night and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket. He glanced at the two Tucks one last time before he pushed the call button, since Tuck was on his speed dial, and they were both looking expectantly at him. The reaction baffled him for a moment. Surely Eames knew he was caught now... Why was he still keeping up his farce? Deciding to question that later, he pressed the button. The sound of Tuck's ringtone began playing and t continued to do so while FDR pointed his gun to one target for the first time without any hesitation.

'This is a mistake.' Tuck stared, puzzlement and shock mixed together into a bitter cocktail, at FDR. He knew his partner meant business from his sure stance and his firm hold on the gun.

'Told you mate, he knew I wasn't lying. Though you sure took your sweet time getting here.' Tuck stared at Eames who took a casual step towards FDR and when the latter didn't show any signs of trying to stop him, he moved to stand by his side. Tuck felt his heart sink all the way to the cobbled ground.

'I told you, those stupid streets all look the same. Why didn't you call me anyway?'

'Let me think about that...Oh yes. I had a gun pointed at me! I think that's a good excuse.'

'Forgot about that. Still-'

'This is bullshit! He must have taken my phone somehow!' Both Eames and FDR turned to look at Tuck who looked pretty damn desperate and pissed off. Tuck was sure the forger somehow managed to take the phone when they were fighting for control, right before he pulled out his gun and things settled. Now he regretted thinking this was going to be an easy mission. How was he supposed to know Eames would pretend to be him and FDR would actually buy it!

'You lost Eames. You tried but you failed so get over it.' FDR smirked, relieved the whole thing was nearing its end. 'And if I'm not much mistaking, those are police sirens I hear in the background.' Tuck knew his time was running out. If he didn't convince FDR that he was making a giant mistake then he didn't know what would happen. He frankly didn't give a shit of the spent time in prison, before they'd realize he was telling the truth, or even if Eames escaped but he couldn't do anything if Eames decided to hurt FDR. Hell, he even knew about Katie and Joe!

'Listen to me! You've got the wrong guy and-'

'Enough! I'm not gonna play this game anymore. See you at headquarters.' As if to emphasise his point, a group of police officers swarmed the narrow street. FDR lowered his gun and showed them his clearance, watching as they cuffed Tuck and began dragging him away. Eames stood behind him, watching the whole show in silence, but FDR figured he was just relieved at suffering a similar fate. If he hadn't arrived at a conclusion FDR figured he would have told the police to take both of them away, just in case, but there was no way anyone could impersonate another person so perfectly... Especially someone he'd known for more than half his life! He was pretty sure he'd made the right choice. He ignored the criminal's yells and pleas to change his mind until he was finally manhandled into one of the police cars waiting nearby.

'Finally, some peace and quiet. He doesn't give up, I'll admit that.' FDR grinned at Tuck who grinned back.

'I don't know about you, but that seriously messed with my mind. I need a drink.' He was already putting his gun away while walking towards Tuck's previously forgotten one.

'When we get back?'

'When else? As soon as we get back home, you and I are hitting the clubs. Though I am going to miss Italy... 'He crouched and picked up Tuck's gun, handing it to its supposed owner who accepted it with a grateful nod of the head.

'I thought you hated Italy.' Eames was falling into his role with practiced ease. The trick was to let the other party do most of the talking and imply whatever he was supposed to know, letting FDR come to his own conclusions. Lying was a fine art and so was thievery. He glanced at his jacket pocket, where the phone was, and smirked to himself.

'Nope. I hate having to chase a criminal down those streets. I love Italy! Italian women for sure. On that note, sorry about keeping you up last night. I sort of lost track of time.' Eames glanced at FDR, one eyebrow arched while his lips curved in a knowing smile. It didn't take a genius to recognise the demeanour of a play-boy and in that respect Eames _was_ a genius.

'And the noise.'

'I already apologised this morning. But seriously... you should have gone to the clubs with me last night. Even you would have had some fun.'

'I'll take your word for it.' FDR rolled his eyes as he led them towards their hotel apartment. Their things were mostly packed, so all they had to do was pick them up and catch their flight back home. Later that evening they would laugh about this whole thing over a drink at FDR's favourite club.

'Also, sorry about the handcuffs.' Eames shook his head when FDR threw him a pretend sorry look which looked too damn smug to be anywhere near sorry. Handcuffs...

'Why am I not surprised?' The only reply was a wider grin.

* * *

Eames took a good look at the nightclub and realized it was exactly the sort of place he would have loved to unwind. Unfortunately he was still posing as Tuck and it was obvious from FDR's constant assurance that he was going to have a good time and it was a nice place that "fun" was not in his job description. Before he could give himself away he tore his eyes from the bright letters which spelled the name of the club and glanced at FDR apprehensively.

'Oh come on, don't you trust me?' The puppy dog eyes were almost selling it but Eames wasn't as easily fooled as Tuck would have been, though that didn't count for much since he had to play his part.

'That's a trick question right?' FDR feigned an expression of hurt but Eames didn't miss that glint in his eyes. Oh he was up to something... something he was sure Tuck wouldn't like, though he wasn't sure if the same thing could be said about himself.

'I am hurt. To think you would so blatantly disregard all our years of trustworthy friendship...'

'Alright, alright! I'm sorry. But you have to admit a place called the _7 Deadly Sins_ doesn't exactly inspire confidence.' He glanced at the red letters again done in a classic script which reminded Eames of Gothic literature. One of his favourites.

'That's the fun part. It's classy, trust me. They have a bartender who knows how to make every cocktail in the history of humankind, ever! Not to mention the ladies-...' As if on cue, three said ladies passed by and both men turned to look. Eames could then see where the word sin had come from. Surely it must be illegal to be that pretty! They were beautiful enough to almost turn him straight, which was saying something. He tore his eyes away from them, with some difficulty, and looked at FDR who was smitten. Eames was surprised the agent wasn't drooling. He smirked softly, softly enough not to rouse FDR from his daze, before a feeling of deja vu washed over him. He'd been getting those ever since he opened the file on FDR Foster for his research to better understand Eames behaviour and habits. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd met this man before but for the life of him he couldn't remember where or under what circumstances which gnawed at him. He was certain he would have remembered someone as striking at that man but no matter how much he searched for the right memory it continued to elude him. It teased and tormented him like water in the palm of his hands running through his fingers before he could drink it.

'Like I was saying, _the ladies_.' Eames snapped out of his thoughts, managing to quickly assume the identity of Tuck before FDR noticed anything. One look over his shoulder told him the three sirens had been let inside the club by the doorman without a second glance. Either they were _that_ pretty or they were regulars. He sighed pragmatically though even FDR could see he was winning him over.

'I'm not questioning your taste, versatile as it is, but you know this is not my kind of place.' Eames was proud of how easily he'd managed to slip into Tuck's skin. He didn't even have to wonder what the agent would have done. He automatically adopted a far-away look of longing and loss for his ex, the girl of his dreams...supposedly.

'Tuck...You have to move on man.' FDR's sympathetic look was so genuine Eames actually felt a tiny, tiny stab of guilt. It was gone in a flash when he realized the other man's gaze was eerily similar to his. There was definitely longing and some form of loss subtly mingled with the sympathy, so well hidden only an emotion reader as experienced as Eames could pin-point it. 'And the first step towards that is hooking up.' Eames opened his mouth to object, like he knew Tuck would, but FDR cut him off before he had a chance to make a noise. 'And even if you don't, you'll still have a good time. I promise! Besides, you said I could choose the celebration venue one the mission was done. No take backs, remember?' Eames could still see that longing in the oblivious' agent's eyes and knew Tuck would be absolutely powerless to resist the whims of his partner. In all honesty, he could see why.

'Why do I still listen to you? Alright, but you buy the first round of drinks.' There it was again! That inexplicably happy look and that beaming smile. If he didn't know any better, Eames would have said they were on a date or something.

'I can live with that.' FDR took the lead and didn't see Eames' knowing look or his tell-tale smirk.

* * *

'I am NOT dancing.' Eames felt like a broken recorder. He must have repeated the phrase, each time putting more emphasis on the 'not' part, at least a dozen times but FDR was relentless. In all honesty he wouldn't have minded all that much but he knew for a fact Tuck had a strict no-dancing policy. Of all the people he had to resemble why did it have to be such a bore?... Life really could be cruel sometimes.

'You're breaking my heart.' FDR swung in his bar stool, an inebriated grin stretched on his lips. No wonder, after five drinks and six shots... Eames was impressed the man could still speak coherently and walk strait. He glanced at his sorry trio of empty glasses and cursed Tuck's aversion to good scotch.

'You'll live but if you keep pestering me I might have to rethink that.'

'Is that a threat?' Eames scoffed and moved the ice-cubes at the bottom of an empty glass around with the straw. He didn't have to look at FDR to know he wasn't going to let the subject go.

'Come on Tuck. They're sisters! Twins! And they're smoking hot! Two of them, two of us...it's simple maths.' FDR was of course talking about the two red-heads who'd been eying them since they stepped into the club. They were sitting a few seats away from them and they were giggling while blatantly checking them out. He had to admit, the tight emerald matching dresses did justice to their curvaceous silhouettes. He could see himself giving into temptation but there was no way in hell Tuck would have...

'Or you could have them both for yourself. I doubt they'll object.'

'I know they won't but that would take too much work and I'll probably blow it anyway.' FDR nodded his head towards the group of empty glasses and Eames scoffed again. 'But this way, we go dancing and then you can come up with an excuse about early work or something if you're insane enough to say no to a fun night of passionate sex, and since they're already expecting a good time they'll come home with me. Everyone wins!'

'Wow... You're pure evil.'

'Okay, I'll make you a deal you can't refuse.' This ought to be good. Eames turned on his stool to face the other man.

'I'm all ears.'

'You dance with one of the twins and I'll do your paperwork for a week.' Eames couldn't have looked more sceptical if he'd tried. 'A month! But that's my last offer. Take it or leave it.'

'I'll leave it.'

'That's not fair!...Why? You hate paper work' Normally Eames detested whinny people but he found himself smirking at FDR's childish pout. Tuck was in deep trouble if his partner had this sort of hold on him...

'Yeah, I do. But so do you and, unlike me, you'll leave it all for the last minute, not give yourself enough time to finish it and we'll both get in trouble. You've done it before, am I right?' In all honesty, Eames was guessing but he was fairly certain he was correct. He wondered if Tuck did most of FDR's office work just to keep him out of trouble. Probably yes.

'That's not the point.' FDR realized his ploy wasn't as fail proof as he'd thought and sighed dejectedly. 'You really don't want to?' Eames knew FDR was talking about more than the dance. He was talking about Tuck taking charge of his sorry love life and doing something about it.

'I'm sorry mate. I'm just not there yet.' FDR studied him for a handful of seconds while Eames tried to look as self-pitying as humanly possible.

'Fine. Your loss.' It was clear FDR was angry with him though he was trying not to let it show, too much. The agent got to his feet and headed towards the twins, not before making a sign to the bartended to bring Eames another drink. The thief tried to catch FDR's eyes so he could at least nod his thanks but the other pointedly kept his back to him. Despite the football field long file the FBI had on him, Eames wasn't a bad man. It just happed that what he was best at was illegal but he never went out to hurt someone deliberately. He actually felt bad for playing FDR like that, when it was painfully obvious the guy cared for Tuck maybe a little too much, but he wasn't ready to go yet.

He accepted the gin and tonic handed to him by the bartended and turned fully around in his seat so he could face the dance floor. He spotted FDR almost immediately, a red-head twin in a tight dress on either side of him, and took a sip of the clear drink. That feeling of familiarity wouldn't leave him alone. The more he stayed with FDR the more he felt like he should remember and it was unbelievably frustrating. He knew it would drive him insane if he left before solved the mystery, even if every second he stayed in the agent's company was a potential danger to his freedom. It seemed they still didn't believe Tuck's version of the story but that wouldn't last forever. He was sure FDR would receive a call any second telling him the truth and...well, he hadn't thought that far but he figured it wouldn't end well for him. He knew all of that, and feared imprisonment more than anything, but still chose to take a gulp of the gin and tonic, calmly enjoying the slight aroma of the lime wedge on his tongue.

The song changed into a faster-pacing tune and Eames was entranced by FDR's body. He should have probably been more absorbed by the girls' twisting hips but it was the agent's hips which held his attention. The memory hit him as suddenly as a bullet. It was the hips which gave it away. His earlier frown slowly morphed into a wolfish smile, his mind replaying memories from years back, while he enjoyed the drink and the show.

* * *

FDR felt the hot bodies moving against his own. He felt the soft cloth of the dress under his palm and heard the shallow breaths behind his ear. He could feel adrenalin pumping through his veins and his arousal stirring but the reason behind its wakening was not the delicious sister duo. He knew it was stupid to feel the way that he did because he would only get hurt again and again but it wasn't like he could just flip a switch and his emotions would magically change. That was the tricky part about feelings. They came when they wanted and they left on their own terms too. He shook his head and deliberately pulled one of the sisters closer against him, her sensuous gasp making him move closer to her. Not wanting to be forgotten, the other girl moved closer to his back, pressing her noticeable breasts against him. This scenario was a fantasy come true and yet...he couldn't stop thinking about Tuck. The dance had been only an excuse to get closer to him. On a crowded dance-floor body contact was unavoidable and FDR would have relished every crumb of accidental attention, as pathetic as that was.

Before he could stop himself, he looked in Tuck's direction and almost froze. It was only the gyrating dancing of the sisters which prompted his body to react. His eyes remained glued to Tucks though. He watched as his partner slowly brought his drink to his lips and drank, the eyes not releasing FDR's from their hold for a second. The way Tuck was looking at him had FDR's heart racing. His childhood friend had never had that sort of ravenous look before, not when he was the object of his gaze anyway.

He felt a pair of lips press to his neck and a tongue darting to lick his skin. He didn't turn to look at the girl because then he couldn't imagine it was Tuck marking him. It took superhuman strength to look away but somehow FDR managed it, his skin as red as the twins' hair. It was becoming dangerous for him and he could see it but he was too far gone to pretend nothing was going on. He was a pretty good liar but that option became moot when under the heavy influence of alcohol. He made a note to self to keep his mouth shut or he might say something he would definitely regret later. There were still things about his past Tuck didn't know and if FDR had anything to say about it, it would remain that way.

He didn't need to know that he'd run away from home when he was twenty because of money problems. He didn't need to know that he'd been living in a run-down apartment for fourteen months where he was robbed and beaten within an inch of death twice. Most of all, he didn't need to know that he'd been forced to sell his only asset to get enough money for himself and still send something back home. Nobody knew about that dark period of his life. Not his family and certainly not Tuck. They all thought he lived with a few friends and worked as a shop assistant during those months and that was perfectly fine. He doubted Tuck would forgive him if he found out he'd sold his body for the enjoyment of strangers and if Tuck would be repulsed by him then FDR was certain he would break apart.

Deciding to push his luck, he turned to look at his partner again. He was met with that hungry look again and he swallowed audibly. Tuck just looked at him until FDR was sure he'd be able to lay bare his soul and then the British agent beckoned for him. He didn't hesitate before he disentangled himself from between the confused sisters. He ignored their protests, muttering only a half-assed sorry in reply, and made his way to the bar once more. Eames rose to his feet to meet him.

'Mate, I'm not feeling all that well. The music's giving me a headache so I think I'll just call it a night.' Eames could see the disappointment on FDR's face. It was clear the agent had dared hope for something else and the crushing reality was as bad as a physical blow.

'You can't leave yet. It's still early.' FDR was sure he sounded like he was begging but he didn't care. At that point he was begging. For what...that was still a mystery.

'Sorry but I'm not in the mood to sit on a stool for hours on end.' And this was the tricky part. Eames knew he had to get his true intentions across without rousing FDR's suspicions. 'I wouldn't mind drinking some more but not here.' The way FDR's eyes lit up one would think it was Christmas and it was time to open the presents.

'How about my pace then? It's closer than yours and I saved a treat just for this kind of situation.' Eames was sure FDR had. And he was sure it was a bottle of gin, Tuck's favourite. If Tuck really was oblivious to FDR's feelings then not only was he a bore but he was blind too.

'Sounds good to me. Lead the way.' FDR flashed him one of his special smiles, saved just for Tuck, before heading towards the club's exit. Eames had a moment to question his own recklessness before shrugging his shoulders at his own resolve and following his unsuspecting partner.

* * *

The taxi ride to FDR's place was oppressively silent. Eames could see even the driver was feeling uncomfortable. The sexual tension between the two was so palpable, the thief fancied he could touch it. At least the awkward journey was blessedly short and Eames followed FDR as he led the way to his door and twisted the key in the lock, granting them both access. While FDR wasn't paying attention Eames studied his surroundings, finding the roof swimming pool really cool.

'I'm guessing you want that drink now. I know I would.' FDR attempted a smile but it was a weak imitation of his usually bright display.

'That makes two of us then.' Eames watched as FDR, grateful to have a purpose, practically ran towards a wooden cabinet fixed against the far wall. The top of it was full of various bottles, some half-full some brand new, and a tray of empty glasses. The agent immediately reached for a bottle of gin and tonic, like Eames guessed he would, and was about to pour the drink before remembering the ice. He bent down, opened the cabinet, and reached for the bucket of cubes. The inside of the wooden support must have housed a mini-refrigerator because Eames could see the perfectly cubical shape of the frozen water. He could see all the details because he'd moved closer to FDR. He was within arm's reach and he watched the agent grab the bottle for a second time to pour two generous portions. The forger took one last step and noticed how FDR's whole frame went rigid.

Eames knew FDR could feel his breath on the nape of his neck. He could hear him breath and he noticed how the agent's breathing seemed to stop. He couldn't deny that it felt damn good to have this sort of power over someone. He gingerly reached out with the tips of his fingers and pulled them upwards along the side of FDR's neck, trailing his fingers through his hair. The sharp intake of air encouraged him to continue, not that he felt compelled to stop. He spotted the mark left behind by one of the twins earlier that night and felt a bizarre possessiveness. She must have been wearing heavy makeup because the shape of her lips were imprinted on FDR's skin in flaming red lipstick. He wanted to smear it. To erase it. To replace it.

His lips closed around the skin smoothly, almost like they belonged there. FDR sighed and leaned in closer, pressing his back against Eames' chest. The pretend agent felt the vibration of FDR's Adam's apple as he swallowed and he bit gently on the skin, running his tongue over the playful nip a second later. From the corner of his eye he spied FDR grip the bottle with crushing force, the skin stretched across his knuckles going white.

'Tuck...' Eames kissed along the edge of FDR's jaw and the agent turned his head towards the other's lips eagerly. They brushed against each other and FDR's mouth was already opening invitingly...

The sound of the phone ringing startled both of them. Eames froze upon hearing the sound he'd dreaded ever since he stole Tuck's identity. FDR, on the other hand, jumped away from Eames as if he'd suddenly been electrocuted. In his haste he dropped the bottle from his hand and it shattered upon impact, sending dangerously sharp shards of glass everywhere and spilling its contents. The con artist took a careful step back, the scent of alcohol wafting to his nose and already beginning to fill the apartment.

'Sorry. I'll...I'll get that. Don't step on the glass.' FDR all but ran to the other side of the room, where his jacked lay after having been carelessly discarded when he'd stepped over the threshold. His mobile was in one of the pockets and Eames watched with some amusement as the usually sure hands fumbled to get to it. He knew what was coming next and he was surprised to find a part of him almost relieved. He was good at stealing identities but it sure felt nice when he could stop the pretence. He sat comfortably and calmly into one of the armchairs which faced the phone directly. This way he could see FDR's expression perfectly when the shocking news would be received. He wondered how hurt would the agent be when he'll realize he'd chosen the wrong Tuck, because there was no doubt in Eames' mind that FDR would be hurt. This was the man he secretly loved after all... That sort of mistake wasn't an easily forgiven one.

'Hello? Wait...Wha?-' A short silence. 'Tuck? But that's impossible! I thought-...' Eames watched FDR turn to look at him, eyes wide in shock and mouth still ready to form the words which were never going to be spoken, as realization struck. Tuck was still speaking on his end but it was clear FDR wasn't listening. Eames didn't flinch when FDR reached under a nearby bookshelf and pulled out a gun, the movement as quick as the strike of a cobra. He could see the rage in the other man's eyes and wouldn't have been surprised if FDR shot him, as unprofessional as that may have been. Truthfully, he was a little surprised he didn't. 'Where he is?' Eames moved his eyes from the barrel of the gun to lock them with FDR's. This was critical moment. Would FDR tell the other agents his location or would he attempt redeeming himself by going solo and do all the work himself. 'No...I don't know where he's now. He left as soon as we landed saying something about having to take care of his...your personal business. I don't know any more than that.' Eames arched an eyebrow but kept silent. He knew he'd have his chance to question FDR's motives later. 'Alright. Wait, Tuck...' FDR broke eye contact with Eames and the forger could tell he was lost. 'I'm sorry.' Whatever Tuck's reply was it seemed to reassure FDR, at least a little, but as soon as he hung up Eames saw the fury return with a vengeance.

'I bet that drink sounds even more appealing right now.' Eames smirked in a very un-Tuck way and FDR saw red. He couldn't forgive Eames for fooling him. Worse, he couldn't forgive himself for being fooled.

'Be my guest. You can lap it off the floor.' The agent kept his gun pointed directly at the criminal's heart. Even the slightest pressure on the trigger would increase hell's population by one.

'And here I thought we were becoming friends.' He knew he was pushing it but Eames had a thing for courting danger.

'What's to stop me from blowing your brains out right now?' FDR chose to ignore the previous dig, though it was difficult and he felt the hand holding the weapon tense. Good thing he was trained to stay in control of his emotions or he would have been on his knees cleaning blood and bone fragments off the floor that very minute.

'You wouldn't do that.' The certainty in Eames' voice made FDR falter and some of his anger gave way to curiosity.

'And why's that?' He would have loved to wipe that smug smirk off Eames' face but he wanted to know what the other man meant.

'Because I look too much like him.' The forger didn't miss the flinch, nor the almost imperceptible lowering of the gun, just a fraction of an inch but it was enough to tell Eames what he already knew.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' Eames rolled his eyes as if exasperated with a small child.

'I'm not him FDR. I'm not blind and you can't pretend _that_-' he gestured towards the cabinet where drops of gin were still cascading down the wood. '-didn't happen. How is it, loving someone while they only see you as a friend? Can't imagine it feels good.'

'Don't talk about him! You don't know anything.' FDR took a certain step towards Eames, the gun looking far more dangerous in the agent's hand now. He was breaking one of the first rules of his training. Instead of keeping his distance, where there would be no way of Eames becoming a threat, he let his emotions cloud his judgement.

'Really? I think I know him better than you do. You thought I was him after all.' Now he was just pocking at the hornets' nest. 'And I think I know you better than you think. Can I ask you something?' Eames waited politely until FDR snapped his response, as if he wasn't going to do what he pleased anyway.

'What?'

'Why did you choose to call yourself Paul?' The reaction was instantaneous and very satisfying. FDR felt the solid ground below his feet crumble to dust. He repeated Eames' question over and over in the futile hope that he'd somehow misheard but the truth didn't change. How could he know about that? How was that possible?

'How?...' Eames made himself yet more comfortable. The gun looked as menacing as a toy in FDR's unsteady hands. He was no longer in fear of his life and if he so chose to, he could have easily reached out and grabbed the weapon, turning the entire situation on its head. Fortunately for FDR, he wasn't interested in killing him.

'Not exactly the answer I expected but there you go. As for your question, I'm sure you remember you were quite popular back then. I'm hurt you don't remember me.' Eames' shark grin looked anything but sorry. He could practically see FDR's wheels spin behind his deepening frown. 'I wouldn't have recognised you myself had you not dragged me to that club. You know what gave you away? The way you moved your hips, just like old times. I remember you liking taking the lead while you sat on my lap and did your job.' Something in that must have triggered FDR's memories because Eames saw recognition register in his bright blue eyes.

'You were the guy with the blindfold.' Eames felt a little proud at being remembered. He must have done a good job if he left such a long-lasting impression, especially since FDR only saw his face for a few seconds at the beginning and the end of their time together.

'Guilty as charged. Do you still do it?' Eames could see FDR returning to his usually cocky self, now that he had all the pieces of the puzzle.

'Look around you. Does it look like I have to sell sex anymore?'

'Too bad. I liked the way you yelled my name. You seemed to enjoy your work, maybe a little too much.' A dark flush washed over FDR's cheeks but it was gone as quickly as it came.

'Don't flatter yourself. You were just another customer and I was faking the entire time. You weren't as good as you thought you were.' Maybe that was a lie but he was not about to give Eames any more ammunition than he already had.

'Ouch! Can't pretend that didn't hurt. Speaking of hurt, does Tuck know about your past?' The sudden panic in FDR's eyes was answer enough.

'He doesn't need to know. And don't bother threatening to tell him because he'll listen to me long before he even considers listening to you.' FDR sounded fairly certain, except for the hint of fear in his voice. The last thing he expected was for Eames to be tied to that chapter of his life and now he wished he hadn't lied to Tuck and told him where Eames was.

'What if there was a tape?'

'Don't even. One of my cardinal rules was no filming.' This was going from bad to so much worse.

'Rules are meant to be broken. You were too good to become nothing but a memory. I captured everything on a hidden camera and I'm sure Tuck would love to get a peak.'

'You're lying.' But FDR didn't sound certain, not even slightly.

'Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Can you be sure, like you were sure I was Tuck? In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm a really good liar.' FDR had noticed and he didn't know what to believe. If Eames was indeed lying then all was good but what if he was telling the truth? Could he take that chance? He pictured Tuck's reaction and knew he had to make sure that tape didn't exist, no matter what.

'Okay... Let's pretend, hypothetically, that you're telling the truth for once and you do have a tape. You wouldn't have told me about it unless you're willing to strike a bargain. So what do you want? Your freedom? Money? What?' Eames pretended to think about it for a moment, each passing second making FDR want to squeeze the trigger more.

'I want you to admit you were lying when you said you were faking.' Whatever FDR expected, it hadn't been that and the incredulous look proved it.

'Are you serious? Is your ego so out of whack you can't even admit the possibility of being bad in bed?'

'Not when it's obviously a lie. I was there too remember and I know you weren't faking. You're not that good of a liar.' The agent's nostrils flared in indignant anger.

'Well then you're just gonna have to show everyone your supposed tape because I'm not taking it back.' So much for _no matter what_...

'Stubborn. Alright then, new deal. I want to prove you wrong.' Was Eames implying what FDR thought he was implying? Surely not...

'Prove me wrong how?' He dreaded the answer.

'I think you know exactly what I mean. If you can't trust your memory then come sit on my lap like before so we can get to the bottom of this.' Pun totally intended.

'You're insane! There's no way I'm having sex with you now! You're a criminal.' FDR almost felt like laughing at the absurdity of the notion. That Eames sure had some nerve... And the horrifying part was that FDR would have probably given into temptation had it not been for Eames' criminal record. When all was said and done, the guy was charming and his looks certainly appealed to the agent, on so many levels.

'I doubt I'm the worst there is.' FDR wanted to point out that it didn't matter what his crime was, it mattered that is was a crime, but Eames carried on. 'Besides I didn't realize prostitution became legal in America.' And just like that, another victory went to Eames. FDR really hated arguing and even more so when he was on the losing side.

'It's not the same and you know it.'

'Sure. I bet your fellow colleagues would see it the same way, and Tuck, and your family-'

'Don't. I'm still the one holding the gun.' Eames' gaze dropped for a second to the almost forgotten weapon before returning to FDR's face, a self-assured smile playing on his lips. Silence descended around them while the agent's mind raced. He knew he was trapped between a rock and a hard place and despite himself he wanted to take his chances with the hard place. That didn't mean Eames had to hold all the cards. Two could play that game and he wasn't exactly inexperienced in that area. 'Let's say I agree to your end of the deal, then I have some terms of my own.' Eames looked at him, obviously surprised by FDR's sudden change of tactics.

'Go on.'

'You can't touch me. You have to make me want it only with your words.' Eames considered for all of one second before agreeing.

'Fine by me. But you have to sit on my lap.' Normally he wouldn't have agreed to such a disadvantageous deal but he knew FDR was already slightly turned on from before, he had a nice number of drinks and he still had his most powerful weapon. He still looked identical to Tuck.

'Fine.' He couldn't believe he was doing this... This was reckless even by his standards. Tuck would pitch a fit if he ever found out, not that he ever would if FDR had a say in it. Eames patted his thighs, that infuriating smirk back on his lips, and FDR had to struggle not to call the whole thing off and simply shoot the guy. He tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, so it would be within easy reach should anything go wrong, then with his head held high and his back straight he took the last steps separating them and straddled the forger's lap, making sure not to be too close to Eames but not far enough for him to know he was on edge. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands so he just pressed them against Eames' shoulders, ready to push back should the thief try to get too close. Fortunately Eames seemed perfectly content to let FDR do as he pleased, for now, and rested his own hands on the armrests, giving off an air of complete nonchalance. He looked at FDR approvingly, racking his body from the waist up just a little too slowly for the agent's comfort.

'I see the years didn't do anything to damage your beauty.' FDR had been called handsome before and hot and sexy but he'd never been called beautiful and he couldn't quite help the slight colouring of his skin.

'How do you know I'm not hiding some hideous scare under my shirt? I am working a dangerous job you know.' FDR's shirt was unbuttoned only at the collar, not giving Eames much of a peak, but he hoped to change that.

'I doubt that. I've done my research and I know of your...active lifestyle. I find it hard to imagine you could have such a large fan club if you didn't meet their shallow expectations. I know for a fact your ass is perfect, inside and out. I still dream about you wrapped around my dick, that's how good you felt.' FDR read storied about spontaneous combustion and he was fairly certain his body was beginning to undergo the destructive process. He fought his every urge to stay still and even managed a soft scoff, albeit sounding a little more strained than he would have liked.

'You must have had a dry couple of years if you had to fantasize about me.' Eames raised an eyebrow.

'I never knew you were this humble. For your information I get plenty of action but you alone stuck in my memory. I remember every minute of the nights we shared, every moan of pleasure, every tremble of excitement and the way your eyes darken to a pretty shade of midnight blue. Like they are now.' FDR reflexively pulled away from Eames, just an inch but it was enough to give him away. It clearly wasn't a secret that Eames' words were getting to him but this was a battle of wills and damn it all if he wasn't going to at least put up a fight!

'It will take more than a few choice words to sway me Eames. And I don't like being called pretty.'

'Then what do you like being called?'

'You don't actually expect for me to make this easy for you. You're the expert character reader so you tell me.' The thief was silent a second, his eyes narrowed as if actually attempting to read FDR like an open book.

'It's something Tuck called you.' FDR didn't even bother to mask his indignant surprise, something which made Eames smirk triumphantly. 'You can call me by his name if you want. You can pretend it's him holding you and fucking you. I can give you what you want, mate.' The agent didn't realize he was leaning towards Eames until their lips almost touched. He also didn't realizes the thief's voice fell to a sensuous whisper until that very same whisper was drawing him in, hypnotising him with its promises. It was Eames's hand on his back which broke the spell. FDR snapped upright, slapping the hand away as if it was a poisonous snake.

'The deal was no touching.' He glared at Eames, infuriated at himself for being so easily manipulated. Hearing Eames call him mate in Tuck's voice nearly broke him. Had the hand touched him a second later he would have been a goner. Only now did FDR realize the full extent of the peril he was in...

'Sorry, I couldn't resist. You have that effect on me.' Eames moved his legs slightly, making FDR slide along his thighs just a millimetre but enough for the agent to understand exactly what sort of effect Eames was referring to. FDR froze when he felt the hardness press against the denims below him. He dug his fingers into Eames shoulders, hard enough to leave the imprints of blunt nails, simply to stop his hands from touching. 'Do you want to know what I'm thinking of?' FDR realized if he admitted that he did the game would be over. He was treading the edge as it was...

'Tell me.' Clearly his brain lost its ability to control his traitorous tongue.

'I was thinking of how good it felt when you were on your knees with my cock in your mouth. You gave it your all, going by touch since you were blindfolded, and that sinful tongue of yours...' Eames' hands were on FDR's back again but this time they were not pushed away. 'The way you moaned, even with a mouth full of cock, when I pushed my fingers inside you. You would swallow them up so greedily they were never enough, not even three of them at once.' FDR felt the hands move to the curves of his ass and grope them, his hips jolting forwards from the tough, feeling Eames' harness press back. 'I liked to pay with you but you were always the first to get impatient. Do you remember how you would push me down on my back only to climb on top of me and do all the work? You would fuck yourself senseless and I got a first-row seat to the whole thing.' One of Eames' hands moved under FDR's shirt, the palm trailing up the burning skin of his stomach and abdomen, opening buttons in its ascend. 'You looked beautiful when you came. You would scream my name while your body would go taunt from the pleasure and you'd tighten around me until I couldn't stand it anymore. I loved seeing you out of breath, so completely spent you would fall asleep almost instantly. All because of me.' Game over.

FDR was eagerly drawing Eames' tongue into his mouth before he realized he'd lost. Hell, it was a miracle he resisted that long and he was going to take it as a victory. His hands moved to the back of his head and neck, pulling him closer while his hips thrust forward, closing any distance that might have dared remain between them. He bit softly on the thief's lower lip when his hands moved to press into his hips, not to move them but to steady them. FDR silently cursed his need to breathe when they had to break apart so their lungs could re-fuel on oxygen.

'I'm guessing that means you agree with me.' FDR thought Eames looked smug before but this was smugness on a whole different level. He rolled his eyes, realizing a part of him was amused rather than irritated at the forger's antics.

'Just shut up already. You haven't proven anything yet, just that you can talk a lot.'

'Then how do you explain this?' FDR felt his face heat up when Eames' fingers rubbed against his crotch. He could deny the truth until he was blue in the face and not convince anyone, least of all himself. The bulge in his own pants was evidence enough.

'Like I said, all bark and no bite.' Eames chuckled, his fingers idly fondling FDR's member through the cloth of his suit trousers.

'Careful what you wish for. I'm not a gentleman like Tuck. I will bite you and it will mark you.' FDR's pressed their lips together for another hungry kiss, their tongue battling for dominance with no clear victor.

'Then stop talking and do it.' Eames needed no further encouraging. Thin lips clamped on FDR's Adam's apple and sucked ravenously. Equally keen hands pushed the agent's shirt open and FDR helped get rid of it. He felt relief sweep through him when the suddenly confining material was gone. Eames was finally free to touch the skin he'd desired since realizing who FDR was and he took full advantage of his freedom, leaving his fingerprints over every tiny scar received during missions when the agent had been just a little too slow. When his lips trailed down below the collarbone he was pushed back. Eames glanced quizzically at FDR, a large part of him afraid the other man changed his mind, but realized he only wanted to get rid of his own shirt.

'All you had to do was ask.' FDR rolled his eyes, knowing this was going to become a habitual occurrence when Eames was around, and let the forger undress himself, content to watch how more and more of the enticing flesh was revealed. Wait...had he just thought of Eames being around?... His eyebrows were in the process of knitting into a frown when Eames placed his palms on his thighs, the fingers reaching just high enough to touch the pelvis, and made FDR forget everything except his name with a passionate kiss. He'd forgotten how good it felt to have someone else take control of his mouth with their skilful tongue and he was happy to let Eames do as he pleased. He settled his own hands over Eames', moving them upwards encouragingly.

He couldn't say exactly when his hips started moving of their own agenda but he only noticed when Eames growled approvingly against the skin of his throat. FDR sighed every time their needs ground against each other and bit his lip from making a far more embarrassing noise. He sought the forger's ear and licked along the shell, drawing Eames' attention to him.

'Do you want to find out of my tongue is still as sinful as before?' The message was a breathy whisper but it was received loud and clear. He grinned wickedly when Eames turned to look at him wide-eyed. It felt good to finally catch the thief off-guard. Before he could lose his edge, or change his mind, FDR started trailing kisses down Eames' neck and chest, all the way until his lips reached the material of his jeans. During his descent he maneuvered his body and was now on his knees, framed by Eames' spread legs on either side. He glanced at the other for a second and was pleased to see the forger still hadn't regained his trademark aloofness.

Strong fingers racked through his hair, the tips massaging his scalp, while FDR undid the jeans fly with practiced ease. He could practically feel Eames' relief when the hard member finally sprang free and FDR would his fingers around it. The hand still playing with his hair didn't rush him but the agent could sense the silent impatience. He looked at Eames, making sure to capture the law-breaker's attention, as he neared the appendage and licked vertically along the shaft. The shiver was visible with the naked eye.

Eames stretched the truth a little when he said he remembered FDR's earlier performance to such a detailed extent, which was not to say he didn't remember having a great time, but those blue eyes were doing something to him. He didn't know what that something was but he did know he liked it and he will find a way to experience it again. He drew circles with his fingertips on the back of FDR's head, watching hungrily as the man below him opened his mouth and, inch by excruciatingly slow inch, allowed the entire length to be sheathed inside it. Fuck, he felt like a virgin who was getting their first blowjob ever! He hadn't the foggiest why FDR's mouth felt so good but it did and he ground his teeth to stop himself from voicing his impatience with the slow pace. He didn't like feeling powerless, especially when his opponent was someone who was trying to lock him up, and he wasn't going to let FDR know just how much power he had. And to think that at the beginning of this little game he'd started he'd been the leader... Oh how the wheel had turned...

FDR moaned when he felt blunt nails dig into his scalp and pull at his hair as if ready to tear it out like a child would blades of grass. He clearly didn't mind the treatment and Eames clearly didn't want him to stop moaning, the vibrations adding a whole new bliss to the euphoria. FDR didn't stop Eames when he began bucking his hips upwards, filling him to the brim, the hand letting go of his hair to settle on the back of his skull instead, holding him still. FDR had always imagined Tuck as a gentle lover but Eames was not Tuck, as he'd reminded him, and he made lewd noises every time the forger's cock hit the back of his throat with force. Back on the streets he was known for being able to take it, no matter what the size, and it seemed some skills were never forgotten.

It took Eames a second to realize FDR was resisting and trying to pull away. Reluctantly he eased the pressure on the back of his head but he couldn't hold back a dismayed groan. So damn close too... The other man had the hint of an apologetic glint in his eyes but it was overwhelmed by mischief. He was up to something and Eames had a feeling he was definitely going to like it.

'Easy there big guy. Don't worry, this is far from over.' Eames smirked back at FDR, gratified to know he was right. He sucked in a shallow breath when FDR licked along his member one last time, just for kicks, already missing the guy's mouth. He studied FDR as he reached behind him and pulled two things out of his back pocket. He chuckled heartedly upon realizing it was a condom and a small container of lubricant. 'What? You can never be too ready.'

'I'm not arguing with you there.' FDR threw him another meaningful grin before tearing the condom package open with his teeth and pulling the sleek piece of plastic out, also with his teeth. Eames' eyes grew progressively wider as FDR proceeded to stretch the condom over his member with his mouth and no help at all from his hands. That was a move worthy of such shows as America's Got Talent, though he doubted the general public would appreciate the display... Their loss!

FDR looked very pleased with himself when he was done. He got to his feet and started tacking off the last of his clothes, tacking time to discard each shoe and each sock individual to Eames growing frustration. Finally the trousers were off, the gun placed carefully on the table just within reach, and FDR was standing before Eames with nothing on but a pair of deliciously tight boxer briefs. The forger actually licked his lips, finding his meal all the more appetising when he saw a red glow lighting FDR's cheeks as a result of his bluntness. He wouldn't have minded making the agent squirm a little longer but FDR wasn't the type to sit still. He lifted one of Eames' legs and worked to remove the shoe, taking care of his remaining clothes just as he'd done for himself a little while ago. Eames crossed his arms behind his back and leaned back in his seat, feeling like royalty. Every few seconds their eyes would meet and Eames would try to make FDR blush, either by blowing him a kiss or mouthing something lewd he will do with him. It was working like a charm.

'This isn't really fair. I'm naked as the day I was born and you're still wearing that.' FDR finished removing Eames' boxers, with some help from the forger himself, before smirking at the comment.

'Who said this was a fair game. You played dirty the moment you decided to get in my pants looking like that.' Eames narrowed his eyes, not in annoyance but in acknowledgement. He wasn't entirely surprised FDR was still conflicted about what they were doing. On one hand he was living many of his dirtier dreams involving Tuck. On the other this wasn't Tuck but he was equally attracted to Eames for the man he apparently was.

'All's fair in love and war, mate.' Eames noticed the stray shiver and grinned. He briefly wondered if FDR would ever be able to look Tuck in the eye when he called him mate and NOT think of their bizarre night together. He would happily pay good money to see that... 'Come on, even the playing fields.'

FDR couldn't resist that slightly pleading tone so he didn't try. Ever so slowly, he rolled the boxers down his muscular legs, giving them a dismissive kick at the end when they'd served their purpose of further pushing Eames on the edge. He straddled the other again and immediately their lips connected in a searing kiss. Their teeth clashed from the sudden impact but neither drew back, choosing to intertwine their tongues together instead. FDR began rocking his hips when two large hands settled on either buttock and squeezed demandingly. The impact of their members rubbing against each other was tenfold intensified without their clothes getting in the way.

FDR was too distracted by Eames' mouth to notice him reaching for the lube and spreading it on his fingers. He only realized what was happening when the identity thief began stroking his own member, spreading the slippery substance all over the length. Eames bit gently on the other's shoulder when FDR's hand joined his and they both stroked his cock in union. FDR understood Eames was ready when the other stopped his hand movements and settled it on the agent's hip, physically resisting from manhandling him. He appreciated the effort.

'Are you always in this much of a hurry?' FDR lifted himself on his knees and moved forwards, bucking his hips in such a way so the member missed his entrance and rubbed against the cleft of his ass.

'Nope, just when I could potently end up in a jail cell for the rest of my life.' Another buck, another miss but Eames was at least grateful for the friction.

'Why are you worried? I think you'll have a great time in jail.' FDR grinned cockily and Eames decided that last tease warranted some sort of punishment. He suddenly grasped the agent's buttocks once more but this time he pulled the entire frame forwards until FDR was hovering just above his eager dick.

'Speaking of having a great time...' It was the only warning before Eames pushed FDR's hips down and slid inside him. Both men had to take a second and reign in their drumming hearts, FDR's head thrown back in silent pleasure, choked between a yell and a moan.

Once they were both ready, FDR pushed Eames back in the seat and, with no hint of his intentions, began moving his hips at a devastatingly fast pace. Silly Eames thought it would take FDR longer to be ready for a fast pace after being penetrated so fast. FDR's hands were pressed against his chest, preventing him from doing much. Eames grasped at one of the wrists, seeking the skin contact, while his other hand remained on FDR's hip, feeling the power of its movements vibrating through his fingertips like electricity. FDR's pace became yet more hectic, something Eames hadn't thought possible, and his fingers curved against the forger's pectorals, scratching the skin in a not altogether unpleasant manner.

Eames could see FDR was nearing his high from the tensing of muscles all over his body. Keeping one hand firmly on FDR's wrist, the other moved to the other's member and pumped it in union with the speed of the thrusts. The sounds coming from FDR were pure sin and Eames felt blessed. He pulled on the agent's arm and FDR automatically leaned down to lock their lips together, the kiss gyrated due to the force of their uninterrupted fucking. The release hit FDR so suddenly he didn't have time to break the kiss and Eames felt the sharp moan, so acute it sounded painful, roll off FDR's tongue on to his. He continued to stroke FDR's dick, feeling the cum coating his hand, while the agent's movements froze with the exception of the occasional tremor.

With some difficulty FDR managed to lift himself off Eames and set his still hard member free. He would have collapsed in a content, bone-less mass to the floor had Eames not acted fast. He rose with FDR and held him against his chest with one hand, leaving marking kisses along his exposed throat while he stroked himself to completion as well. The thing which pushed him over the edge was FDR's scent. He inhaled deeply and sank his teeth in the flesh before him harsher than he'd wanted, his sight going blanch for a couple of seconds. He felt FDR's hands on his shoulders and they were both falling back in the seat, their breaths hot and heavy. It took both of them some time before the gasping and huffing stopped, both feeling like they'd worked out extensively, and they could open their eyes.

'Was it like you remembered?' FDR spoke softly, his throat raw from all the yelling, against Eames' shoulder.

'Better. But then again, you were faking before, right?' FDR glanced up at Eames and returned the infuriatingly charming grin, the only answer to the forger's question being a mischievous glint in the sky blue eyes. A comfortable silence settled between them but it didn't last long. 'Now what?' FDR's expression clouded over and he rose on the support of his elbows, looking Eames dead in the eyes.

'I can't let you go free Eames. It's not like I'm incapacitated or anything.' For a split second Eames actually thought this was it, he'd reached the end of the line, but his lips stretched in a slow smile at FDR's words. Flexing his impressive muscles, the forger suddenly rose to a sitting position, nearly throwing FDR to the floor. The only thing which saved the agent from a fall was his quick reflexes. He joined his arms behind the forger's neck and Eames kissed him passionately on the mouth, making it a goodbye.

* * *

FDR left his gun close to the armchair, just in case, close enough for Eames to reach as well. The agent knew what the criminal was doing but chose to plead ignorance, losing himself in the heated tangle of tongues instead. When the weapon made hard contact with the back of his head he was unconscious before pain settled in and he slumped against Eames with nothing more than a stifled groan. He didn't have time to feel the loving kiss planted on his forehead.

It was the headache which woke him up. A headache he was unfortunately accustomed to. How much drinking practice was enough before he could bypass the whole hangover ordeal already?! FDR opened his eyes gingerly, having made the mistake of opening them too fast before and regretting it dearly, and slowly sat up, groaning groggily. When all was said and done, he had slept pretty damn well. He rubbed away the last remains of sleep with the back of his hands, stifling a yawn while he was at it.

The dull ache moving around in his skull like a living thing seemed to come from the back of his head, which was odd. Usually when he suffered a hangover the headache hovered around his right temple. Squinting his eyes, he reached back and touched the sour spot, immediately wincing and pulling his hand away as if burned. That was not a hangover related pain...That was a bruise! He had to poke at it again before memories began returning and making sense. He really was groggy without his morning coffee...

He looked around him, half expecting Eames to morph out of some shadowed corner with his devilish grin in its rightful place. His eyes were first drawn to the drink cabinet and immediately he saw something off. He stopped rubbing soothing circles around the bruised area and moved closer for a better look, but his eyes weren't deceiving him. The glass shards and the accidentally spilled gin was no more. Instead, folded neatly on the counter, was a note and sitting on top of it was a brand new bottle of gin and tonic. FDR narrowed his eyes curiously, unable to resist doing another sweep of his apartment just in case, but knew who had to be responsible for the unexpected present.

He took another step before he realized he wasn't naked and sticky from sweat. Had Eames actually washed him?! The thought was too insane to consider, especially with the mother of all headaches drumming up a storm inside his head. It seemed to get worse the more he woke up. Once at the counter, he moved the bottle, widening his eyes when he realized it was of good quality just like the one which broke and must have cost a pretty penny. When did Eames have time to do everything anyway?... FDR placed the bottle back down reverently and carefully, illogically afraid it would just burst into shards if he applied even the slightest of pressures. Next came the note. He unfolded the white squares and began reading, dissolving into a stream of chuckles by the end.

_If you're reading this you're clearly awake. Let me guess, you have a really nasty headache. Sorry about that... Drink a few shots from your apology gift. It'll help. I speak as someone who's had that experience before. _

_Also, I raided your fridge. (You should really consider healthier food.) Sorry about that too. I'll send you an expensive bottle of scotch (which is a real drink). _

_Your mate. _

_P.S. There was no tape. Will a bottle of whiskey do? _

FDR read the message three times but the words didn't change. Excuse him! Pizza was a healthy food! It had vegetables... He shook his head slightly and began following Eames' advice, pouring himself a hearty shot of gin. Here he was, drinking from a bottle left by a criminal after he'd let that same criminal escape after sleeping with him after accidentally sending his best friend in the world to jail. That sounded about right...

'Best decision of my life...'

* * *

**DONE! I hope it was a fun ride! XD Until next time, **

**HAVE A LOVELY DAY! **


End file.
